Before Girl

by Kate Canterbary

  "I'm not," I argued. "I'm squarely in the cheesier-than-saucier camp. But I prefer when there's some sauce on the bottom of the plate, just an extra scoop. Like a—"

  "Sauce puddle," she interrupted. "It needs a sauce puddle or it's dry and incomplete."

  I murmured in agreement. "Better to be saucy on the plate than between the layers."

  "Dammit, you're right." She thumped her fist against my arm. "You're totally right. Even if you made it sound so dirty."

  "There you go, Stel. One more item off your list. Ready for that trip to Ikea now?"

  "We could bring my parents and sisters along and destroy the whole thing this weekend," she said, laughing. "We don't need an extra pan now but I'm sure we could find something complicated to build. Furniture feats of strength, you know?"

  "Better yet, I'll fly my mom out from Oregon, we'll head down to Ikea, and stop at a bad restaurant on the way back and then put together some particle board."

  "Oh my god, I love it," she said between laughs.

  "Then you can say yes to me," I continued. "Or we could skip all that and stay right here."

  "Cal," Stella said. "Cal, sweetie, you're vibrating."

  I kissed her forehead. "I know, I can't help it."

  Stella grabbed my shoulders and forced me back. "No, you're vibrating." She patted my chest. "I think it's your phone."

  Motherfuck. She was right. There was only one number that vibrated that pattern and I had to answer. I hated it. Of course I did. I wasn't on call tonight. If the hospital was calling, it was to report one of my cases was declining and that was not the news I wanted to hear. Not for the patient, not for me.

  "Don't move. Not an inch, not a muscle, don't even blink," I warned her, reaching into my breast pocket with a sigh. I scowled at the screen as if that would change anything. It didn't. "This is Doctor Hartshorn."

  I listened as the resident explained the complications he was seeing from yesterday morning's valve replacement case and the interventions up to this point, my chin resting on her head and my arm wrapped around her shoulders. If I was getting called in, I was damn well taking this last moment with Stella and savoring it.

  "Thanks, Miller. Good catch," I said. I ended the call and replaced the phone in my pocket.

  "You have to go," she said. It wasn't a question.

  "I do but you can stay here. You can go through my closets and cabinets, and check out my DVR." I needed a yes. I needed to keep this going with her. If we parted here, it was over. I knew it. This spell would break and I'd never get it back. "I'll be back as soon as possible and we can"—I glanced around, wondering what could happen next. She'd said wait, she'd said no. I couldn't invite her into my bed after she'd pressed pause like that. She could invite herself but I had to wait until she was ready for my demands, my belt throwing. I couldn't make her ready. "We can watch SportsCenter."

  Stella pressed a kiss to my lips and smiled as she shook her head. I wasn't getting what I wanted. Not tonight, maybe not ever. "On the pond. Tomorrow. Same time as always."

  "All right," I conceded, still holding her close. "But you're not leaving yet."

  She hit me with what are you talking about, boy eyes. "I'm not?"

  I ran my palm over her backside. She jerked against my touch. "Not in this condition, no. I'm putting salve on you first."

  She peered up at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Are we playing doctor now?"

  I stepped back from the door and zipped up my trousers. I didn't go looking for the belt. Chances were good I'd be out of this suit and into scrubs within the hour. But I did snatch Stella's undies off the floor. "If by playing you mean me treating the welts I left on your skin then yes, we're playing."

  "You're a special one, Cal."

  I couldn't read the expression on her face and didn't have the time to try, instead leading her into the bathroom. I wet a facecloth and plucked a few sample-sized tubes of cream from under the sink and settled on the lip of the tub. There were perks to being a doctor. One of them was the endless amounts of samples. Gesturing for her to come closer, I said, "Turn around and pull that dress up for me, sweet thing."

  Stella stared at me for a moment, her hands on her hips. "You want me to turn around and pull up my dress and—and you're going to put cream on my ass? Is that what's happening right now?"

  I nodded. "Pretty much."

  "The last time anyone did that was after I doused myself with apple-scented body spray, put on a thong and miniskirt, and went to a party in the woods behind Merrymount Park. I was fifteen and every mosquito in a five-mile radius attacked me. I swore I was never putting myself in another situation that ended with anyone creaming my ass. Haven't worn a thong since and I have no regrets where that's concerned."

  "It was probably the body spray. That attracted the bugs." It was the best I could do to keep myself from diving into the perverted deep end and imagining Stella in a thong. "But—uh—who treated your bites?"

  "My older sister. We all shared a bedroom. Me, my older sister, and our younger sister. They saw the fallout the next morning but it was Sophia who busted out the cotton balls and Calamine. I swore I wasn't going through that again and she swore she'd never put herself in the position of being the person applying the cream, and I respect that."

  I considered this while trying—and failing—to keep my gaze away from her peaked nipples. God, I wanted to taste them. Lick them. Bite them. Bite bite bite. I could already imagine the ring of marks around her nipples. A twin set of devil's halos.

  Finally, I said, "That's how I felt about getting shot. I understand. I still want to take care of you. I also want another look at the marks I left on you."

  Stella blinked at me. And again. "You've been shot? Where?"

  "In Afghanistan."

  "That—that isn't the answer I'm looking for," she seethed. "Don't make me strip you naked to find it for myself."

  "Really, Stella. That's no threat," I remarked lightly. "I was shot in the back of my thigh. As far as gunshot wounds go, it was a basic one. It went in, missed the femoral by a hair, went out the other side. No major damage aside from a gnarly scar all the way around. I'll show it to you sometime but only if you let me do this. I don't want you hurting tonight."

  Laughing, she dropped her hands to her sides and curled them around the hem of her dress. "Only because you have me curious about that scar," she said, pivoting.

  "Whatever works for you, Stel." Her bare backside came into view and—fuck me running. I couldn't keep my fingers from tracing the raised marks dotting her cheek. Her skin was hot like a fever and I wanted to feel those bumps on the head of my cock. The longer I stared at her, the more I could imagine my cock rubbing against her, my release splashing over her skin.

  "Cal," Stella said.

  I cleared my throat but it wasn't enough. "Yeah?" I managed, my voice rough.

  "Just making sure you're still with me," she said.

  I glanced down at the little tube in the hand not currently occupied with her ass. My grip was fierce. I was shocked it hadn't exploded. "I'm admiring the view," I said, gently running the damp cloth over her. "Your skin blooms like a rose."

  "Is that," Stella started, her words hesitant, "is that what you're into? I mean, it's fine. I'm just wondering."

  I tossed the towel to the corner and squirted some lotion into my palm. "This shouldn't burn or tingle at all but it is thick. You'll feel it for a bit," I said. "And no, I'm not, uh, I've never bitten anyone before."

  "Oh, wow. Okay, then," she said softly.

  "Was it all right?"

  "Was it all right," she repeated. "Yeah, you could say that. I'm a little surprised your neighbors didn't call the police. I don't usually scream like that. I don't usually scream at all."

  "New territory all around," I said, and it was all I could do to keep myself from shaking this woman and shouting at the top of my lungs that she was it, she was everything, and we were meant to collide on that trail this morning.
Didn't she see it? Feel it? Didn't she know? Because I knew. I fucking knew.

  "You were right," Stella said.

  I glanced away from her backside, wondering if I'd spoken those thoughts out loud. I couldn't have. "About what, sweet thing?"

  "About tomorrow's walk being a slow one."

  Ah, the trail. It was a handful of hours away but I hated the idea of relinquishing her. Just fucking hated it. "We can take it as slow as you want, Stel." I meant that. Sure, my dick and I weren't thrilled about tonight's turn of events but we'd keep the faith. I massaged the remaining lotion into my hands and pressed a kiss to the base of her spine. "You're all set. You might have some bruises but nothing that won't heal within a day or two."

  Stella reached for the panties I'd abandoned near the sink and stepped into them before turning to face me. "Walk me out," she said, tipping her head toward the door. "I'll get a car service to take me home."

  "Where is home for you?"

  She busied herself with brushing a hand down her dress but I didn't miss the way her eyes widened at my question. "Not too far from here," she replied. "But not too close."

  "You're not going to tell me," I said.

  She shook her head. "A lady needs her secrets, Cal."

  I mentally sifted through every cardiothoracic surgeon I knew as we left the bathroom, desperate to find one who could pick up my case and let me see the night out with this woman. Couldn't find one. That wasn't accurate. There were several but none who would handle it the way I would and I didn't know how to get past that issue.

  I held Stella's hand as I locked the apartment door behind me and headed through the small vestibule. "Is your phone handy? I'll put my number in there," I said, holding the front door open for her. "Or is that one of your secrets?"

  She squeezed my fingers. "Give me my hand back and I'll get my phone."

  Before I could respond with an offer to dig through her pockets, I found my colleague and neighbor Alex and her fiancé Riley staring up at us from the sidewalk. "Oh. Hey," I called, lifting my hand in a quick wave.

  "Yeah," Alex replied. "Hey."

  "Is this what you were telling me about?" Riley asked Alex.

  She bobbed her head. "Yeah, I think so." She smiled at Stella. "Where are your manners, Hartshorn? Introduce us."

  I pointed at them, saying, "Alex Emmerling. Riley Walsh. This is Stella. Stella, these are my neighbors."

  "Sorry, we're androgynously named." The gastro surgeon held her hand up. "I'm Alex. He's Riley."

  Stella laughed. "That's helpful, thank you."

  "I'm the only person in the building who isn't a doctor so that makes me easier to remember," Riley said. "If you need to remodel a house, give me a holler."

  "Also helpful," Stella replied.

  Alex touched her fingertips to her lips, pausing a moment. "I feel like I've heard so much about you," she said. "All good, of course. Great. The best. This guy can't stop talking about you."

  "Emmerling," I warned.

  "I'm just so happy you're a real person," Alex continued. "Not that I thought you weren't but you're so pretty and you were obviously in his apartment just now and—"

  "Is she drunk?" I asked Riley.

  "—and after the story I heard this morning I wasn't sure what was going to happen—"

  He held up his hands. "The champagne never stops flowing when you're getting married." He shrugged. "And I love it when she babbles. It's adorable." He stared at Alex. "Honeybee, you're beautiful and I love everything you do but I think Hartshorn's head is going to explode if you keep embarrassing him in front of the woman he's obviously trying to impress."

  Alex's eyebrows pinched upward. "He'll survive." She gestured toward Stella. "I'm not usually this chatty but you are lovely and he is one of the best guys and I want good things to happen. I hope to see you again."

  "Absolutely," Stella agreed.

  She said it in a way that made me believe she was interested in getting to know my friends. Like she intended to see me again. That was the real mystery here, wasn't it? Whether the bubble would burst and everything would change tomorrow. I couldn't explain why but it seemed we only had today to get this right.

  She shifted to face me. "Tomorrow morning. Right?"

  Regardless of the audience before me, I drove my fingers through Stella's hair and brought her lips to mine. Her arousal still lingered on my tongue and I was certain she could taste it too. I liked that. Another thing I didn't understand but thoroughly enjoyed.

  "Tomorrow," I whispered. "And we'll go as slow as you want, sweet thing. I know how to wait."

  She patted my chest as a smile turned up her lips. Her dimples popped and I was powerless. "Yes, it seems that you do."

  12

  Stella

  It didn't make sense but I checked my phone one more time. Cal wasn't calling. He couldn't. He didn't have my number and I was the one who had to dash off to my Uber like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight without having the presence of mind to slow down and exchange info.

  It was ridiculous, really. I had everyone's phone number. Every reporter and radio host and all their bookers, the television commentators and the bloggers, the agents and managers, and personal assistants and security details. Even the governor of a certain southern state who was a closeted Yankees fan.

  I wielded the power of the Rolodex but the one time I truly needed a number, I didn't have it.

  Ridiculous.

  I could've tracked him down. I could've asked some favors, pulled some strings. Everyone knew someone and I knew a lot of people in this town. But there were daytime favors and nighttime favors, and I wasn't ready to wake anyone up to get Cal's number. That felt a bit crazy to me, a bit clingy. And those weren't looks I wanted to wear.

  When the call from his hospital came through last night, we separated in the most reluctant manner possible—complete with him backing away while still gripping my belt and taking me with him for several paces until I literally dashed away into the waiting car—but we parted with nothing more than a promise to meet here, at the pond.

  Logistics had no place in lust.

  Waking up this morning, I was almost convinced that the entire day was a strange, sexy, unsatisfying dream. I would have believed it too, if not for the scrapes on my knees and chin…and the tender side of my ass. All of that and the overwhelming sense that the world as I knew it was shifting. The boundaries I'd drawn, the walls I'd erected, the laws I'd enforced—they were all changing, even as I attempted to strengthen them.

  Glancing at the screen one last time, I dragged my tongue over my teeth and tapped my sneakered toe against the trail. It was fifteen minutes past my usual start time at the pond and I couldn't find another reason to wait much longer. My day was packed to the brim, I was due in Los Angeles tomorrow in preparation for the football league's draft day, and my newest and most high-maintenance client McKendrick was busy being a get-the-last-word-in, can't-kill-him-with-kindness, passive-aggressive sumbitch.

  That fucker did not know when to shut the hell up and appreciate the PR triage my firm was arranging for him. It was as if he forgot that he hired us for this exact purpose. He reminded me of something my grandmother had often said, that people were less kind and appreciative these days. That they expected so much but found themselves accountable for little, and true gratitude was found as often as four-leaf clovers.

  And he was a spoiled sumbitch. My grandmother hadn't said that but she would've if she'd met Lucian McKendrick.

  This morning's dark, drizzly weather meant the trail was less busy than most days. I looked out over the water for a moment, hoping I hadn't missed him again. But there was no man-brick to be seen. After all this time of Cal watching me and me barely noticing his Clemson-ish running shoes, and everything we shared yesterday, we were back to missing each other again.

  But I couldn't keep my day on hold any longer. I had a promotion to claim. I pulled up my hood, switched on my playlist, and nudged my earbuds into plac
e. As I moved forward, I forced myself to believe that there was a reasonable explanation for it.

  For the whirlwind day we shared yesterday.

  For the touches and kisses—and bites!—that were too intense to be anything but real.

  For the words and promises that followed me into the night and all the way to dawn, and still wouldn't leave me today.

  For his absence now.

  Perhaps it was for the best. Too much, too fast, and the timing was all wrong. It was always about the timing.

  But my younger sister Serina would've called horseshit on that pretty quick, and then my older sister Sophia would have agreed with her. Serina grabbed the bull by the horns and life by the balls, whereas I negotiated with the bull and maintained a respectable distance from the balls. Grabbing wasn't my style. I was all about friendly coaxing followed by a gentle reach-around.

  And that was a good explanation for why I'd missed out on this promotion for far too long. Enough with the gentle reach-arounds.

  I knew the timing excuse was horseshit too, but there was something helpful about hearing from your baby sister that your entire emotional and relational infrastructure was as sturdy as a pile of sardines. Serina would tell me to march my ass right down to Mass General, storm the cardiothoracic floor, and wait until Doctor McMan-brick showed his face.

  Those stunts always worked for her. Serina the Stunt-Puller. Never for me, Stella the Scrupulous.

  Even if I could manage stunts like Serina, I didn't know what that would solve. There was no point in guilting a guy into seeing me. If Cal didn't want to meet me this morning, forcing him wasn't going to make the situation any better.

  No, I wasn't putting on my ass-kicking heels or barging into any hospitals. That wasn't my style. I didn't wait on men and I didn't wait for them either. I had my pick of dicks if I needed one and I didn't need one today.

  With 98 Degrees blasting in my ears, the man-brick memories were gathering themselves up, putting themselves away. Really, he was nothing more than a flash in the pan. A moment of high heat and then a kitchen full of smoke. I was in need of a good airing-out.